Somewhere between the frozen layers sleeps a fragile woman.

Waiting for her husband to remove the shards of glass.

The sun betrays the light that it once shed.

And daughter cuts the hair.

Tangled in a silver brush.

Spitting at a broken mirror.

I feel the movement of ghosts in the room.

She keeps a photograph locked in her mouth.

The smell of turpentine drips from the walls.

Forgive and forget.

Relive and regret.

You're not alone.

I've seen the dead arise.